Todays first: Another ten-miler As Ingela and I pursue our dream of kayaking the length of the Conodoguinet Creek, we put in for another long paddle. We had a little rain this week, so we were optimistic that wed have an awesome run down the river. Picking up where we left off last time, we put in at Willow Mill Park with the intention of paddling the 6.5 miles to Fry Tract to meet up with her father and paddle another 1.2 miles to Westover Commons. After our last run, this would be a piece of cake. Pride goeth before the fall. Despite the rain, we kept bottoming out our boats, scraping along rocks and fallen logs, gouging the hulls. My orange kayak looks like a half-carved jack olantern. We both got trapped on a rock ledge that stopped us midstream, whipping the boats around and nearly dumping us into the creek with the current. I tried scooting and rocking, using my paddle as leverage to push over the hurdle, and ultimately planting my hands on the rocks and lifting both myself and the kayak off the ledge. After two hours of darting those Class 1 rapids, we were starting to worry that wed missed Fry Tract. There was nothing to see but clear water and a small waterfall and trees and wildlife (two deer, a blue heron we named Herald, an egret named Igor, three red-eared sliders - one named Winston Churtle, if you catch my drift - an osprey, and flocks of ducks and Canada geese). We heard a whoop from the bank and found Mama and Papa Hartman waiting for us at Fry Tract - literally a worn spot of grass on the roots of an old tree. Under no circumstances would I have known that was an access point to the creek. The maps for the water trails are awful, and the website for PA Fish and Wildlife is worse. The access points arent labeled, the bridges arent labeled, and there are very few houses to spy on and imagine living in on the northern route. Sigh. Turns out that the final stop on the route, Westover Commons, was in a neighborhood where youd have to carry out for a city block before you could reach your car. So we figured wed muscle on an extra two miles to take out at Good Hope. That seemed like a good omen. We took an easy cruise for the last three miles and found Mama Hartman waiting to drive us all home. Thank goodness she was, too, because we were tired and hungry and looking forward to the delicious meal of fried chicken, macaroni salad, and peach cobbler. Only ten more miles to go and well have conquered the Creek.
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 03:20:15 +0000
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